All language subtitles for MrSWr3E07.Deadline.for.Murder.

Now look here, you burned out has-been.

Burned out has-been?

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

What was it, an accident or what?

I always thought somebody would murder him.

It could have been murder.

French fries are not a part of your diet.

Don't you dare.

No, but you'd rather poison me

with chipped beef and tapioca pudding.

I read that article The Sentinel

printed about you.

The cops better get a hold of this guy

before I get my hands on him.

The search for the real Lamar Bennett,

and who killed him.

- That's our hook. - Our hook?

I don't care that she's a dipso with 33 cats

and hasn't bathed in four months.

What I want to read about is

that she's a sweet, old widowed grandmother

whose greedy landlord kicked her out.

Billy, I can't believe that you would pull this on me.

Now, if I knew that you were gonna trash my copy--

Now you can't tell me that you--

You--you wrote this tripe?

No, I rewrote your piece.

This is a morning paper, Mr. Drake.

And I feel a certain responsibility

to avoid sending our readers back to sleep.

That happened to be a superbly handled interview, pally,

until your people turned it into supermarket-checkout garbage.

I'm sorry about this, Mr. Bennett.

Bennett? Bennett?

You're the guy who gobbled up a dozen honest newspapers

and turned them into wastebasket filler.

Good-bye, Mr. Drake.

Oh, well, I'm not leaving, Bennett.

Not until you guarantee me an apology

to the lady and in print.

Now look here, you burned out has-been.

The only reason you got paid for that drivel

was because Billy here talked me into throwing you a bone.

Burned out has-been. Been--

Sally, get me an ambulance. Quick.

Is he still breathing?

Yeah, barely.

Get a photographer in here. I want some pictures.

A coronary as massive as this at his age is bad enough,

but he seems to have lost the will to live.

I mean, it's unbelievable.

Three weeks ago,

he was as feisty and cantankerous as ever.

Keep it brief, Mrs. Fletcher, and calm.

Any excitement could bring on another attack.

Hello, Haskell.

Hey. Huh.

What do you say there, kiddo?

What are you doing here?

You shouldn't be seeing me like this.

- You always look good to me. - Oh.

The doctor tells me you're doing very nicely.

Oh, oh, oh. Dr. Doom?

He already has me ticketed on a one-way to slumberland.

No way.

Another week and you'll be out chasing another story.

Not me, kiddo.

I couldn't afford to recover even if I wanted to.

Now, look, we've known each other too long

and over too many years to beat around the bush.

Mmm.

Now, I'm gonna take care of this bill,

and as soon as you're feeling better,

we're gonna move you into a private room.

Oh.

No, no, Jessica. I'm--I'm no charity case.

Of course not.

You can pay me back out of your next assignment.

Now, what can I bring you?

Bring me Lamar Bennett's head on a platter.

You know, he-- he butchered that interview

that I had with you.

He called me a bum.

Haskell, hold on now.

You know, the last thing I remember before I passed out,

he was asking the photographer to take some better shots.

- Oh, good Lord. - Yeah.

And that's not all, that's not all.

Look, look what he did to you. Look.

Look what he did. Hmm.

That is ridiculous!

This--this was the fourth of July party,

and I tripped over Howard Bigelow's basket

and spilled my cider.

Haskell, Haskell, I want you to just rest, all right?

I've got an errand to run. And I'll be back.

A story about a 14-year-old

whose grandparents couldn't take care of her?

Who cares about that?

Miss Garrett, do you mean tell me that

that institution doesn't have any small children,

kids who've been beaten and abused?

Of course, they do.

But that's another story, not the one I want to write.

LB, I want Kay's story to run as is.

I'm sure you do Walter,

but happily for The Sentinel,

your position as editor emeritus no longer entitles you

to make those decisions.

Now on the other hand, if you feel strongly about it,

I would be delighted to finally accept your resignation.

Now, wait a minute.

And your son's.

Well, there's no way we'll give you that satisfaction

Mr. Bennett, not in hundred years.

Uh, do I hear 150? Say, 200?

Please, you can't go in there.

I'm sorry, Mr. Bennett.

That's quite all right, Edith.

Mrs. Fletcher, I believe.

Now, this is a very rare privilege.

Well, forgive the intrusion, Mr. Bennett.

This won't take much of your time.

You're here about the story.

On the contrary, I'm--

My dear lady, we have developed

a certain style here at The Sentinel,

one that depends less on facts than a certain point of view.

Mr. Bennett, I'm here about Haskell Drake.

I would prefer to talk with you privately.

Oh, I'm sorry. I have to leave now.

And I'll be out of town tomorrow.

Edith, would you try to book us a few minutes next week?

Clyde, it's time for my medication.

Mr. Bennett, Haskell may not be alive next week.

Stan, that basketball story of yours just lays there.

The, uh--water, please.

The drug angle is just tired. It's tired.

Now, you find me something with real heat.

LB, we've got to talk about this dental malpractice case.

Later.

Mr. Bennett, this will only take a few minutes.

Uh, Clyde.

Mrs. Fletcher,

we're having a little celebration this evening.

Please come and join us. We can talk then.

Very nice meeting you.

Mrs. Fletcher, I'm Kay Garrett.

How is Mr. Drake?

- Not at all well, I'm afraid. - I'm sorry.

What you just saw in there? Typical Lamar Bennett.

Ah, give it up, Kay, will you?

- Mrs. Fletcher, Perry Revere. - Hello.

Look, babe, this situation can't go on forever.

Just into our sunset years.

Perry, let's face it.

I don't have your infinite capacity for pain.

I'll see you at the banquet.

I've got to try and talk my dad out of going

so he doesn't end up in the bed next to Haskell Drake.

It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Fletcher.

He's right. Nobody wins with Bennett.

But I keep hoping.

The truth is, if I hadn't stepped in when I did,

half the people in this room here would be on unemployment.

His game plan isn't pretty,

but the guy knows how to put points on the scoreboard.

Yes, unlike so many others,

you continue to play for him, right?

Sports writing's all I know, Mrs. Fletcher.

Besides, integrity doesn't buy a whole lot of pastrami.

- Good evening. - Good evening.

Hello, Kay. Excuse me.

Come on now. What is with these long faces?

This is the first decent financial statement

this old rag has had since granddad ran it.

Oh, yeah, sis,

and the old guy's probably whirling in his grave.

You want to give me a break, Perry?

You know, last year the dealer was ready

to take your Ferrari away.

Now you've got more money than you know how to spend.

- The same goes for you, Daddy. - Take it easy, Ellie.

Dad's had a hell of a year trying to keep Bennett in check.

An effort, which has, I'm afraid, been largely wasted.

Daddy, don't you think you ought to

lay off that stuff just a little?

Well, I'm sorry, darling, but we're supposed to be

showing our bright, happy faces here.

Sober, I'm not sure I can manage.

Well, Kay, how delightful. You've brought Mrs. Fletcher.

Walter Revere, former owner and publisher of The Sentinel.

Eleanor Revere, his daughter.

- How do you do? - Very well, thank you.

Mrs. Fletcher, I want you to know

how appalled I was at what happened to Haskell Drake.

As I am, Mr. Revere.

Unfortunately, my views no longer hold much weight

at the newspaper.

These days I hardly rate a visit from the coffee cart.

If you're searching for the great man,

I believe I saw him holding court that way.

Thank you. Excuse me.

You're not suggesting that I be held responsible

for Haskell Drake's medical bills.

No, of course not.

I'm concerned about his mental well-being.

Haskell is an outstanding newspaperman,

who'd be an asset in any organization.

Mrs. Fletcher, I am a publisher.

I am not a good Samaritan for losers or has-beens.

Oh, a has-been?

No, Lamar, he's a legend.

And frankly, you're not fit to sharpen the man's pencils.

My, my, my.

Aren't we letting it all hang out this evening?

May I remind you, Walter,

that long before I appeared on the scene,

your pathetic opinions mercifully ceased to matter

to your readers, your staff, or anyone else.

Oh, Mr. Bennett, I'm so sorry.

Daddy, I--here, let me.

I'm so sorry. I'm sure that daddy--

Everyone!

Everyone,

may I have your attention for a moment, please?

I want to make a little announcement.

As a matter of fact, a toast.

A toast to the departure

of our dear, distinguished editor emeritus,

Walter Revere.

And with him go the last vestiges,

happily, of the old, moribund Boston Sentinel

and his brand of archaic journalism,

where so-called "tradition" is a synonym for--

Don't listen.

Mr. Bennett.

Yeah, get me Billy Simms and hurry.

I want to know how many fire companies,

how much damage and injuries,

names, gory details, the whole shot.

Billy, phone.

Joe, get a couple more photographers down there quick.

It's Miss Garrett on five. She says it's important.

Harry, who's covering the hospitals?

We got Berman at memorial, Gettis at general,

and Starbuck on his way to central.

You, get on your horse and get down there and help 'em.

Yeah, Kay, you'll have to give it to me fast.

We've got a big one burning down at the dock.

Billy, I hate to give it to you like this.

I really do. I'm sorry. But Mr. Bennett just died.

- He what? - I'm very sorry, Billy.

Uh, yeah. It's okay, kid.

I, uh--how'd it happen?

What was it, an accident or what?

He just suddenly turned red,

then he seemed to have trouble breathing,

then he keeled over.

There'll be an autopsy.

I'll cover the medical examiner's office.

Yeah. Well, hold on a second, Kay.

Lou, hold page one for a remake.

Artie, get me a rewrite man and quick.

Okay, kid, give me your lead.

I feel so sorry for Billy.

He and Bennett go back a long way.

Oh, yeah. Way back.

Clear back to when Billy was just a hatchet boy.

It's just unbelievable.

Yeah, kind of makes you wonder

where you turn next for your aggravation quota.

Listen, Mrs. Fletcher,

since death seems to have cheated us

out of that rubber chicken dinner

they were getting ready to serve us,

why don't you let me buy you dinner?

I'm afraid I've lost my appetite,

but I'll take a rain check.

Tomorrow night if I'm still in town?

- You're on. - Good.

Oh, anybody get a fix on what did him in?

Well, it's just a guess,

but the symptoms looked to me like a brain hemorrhage.

Hmm. Well, he was lucky.

I always thought somebody would murder him.

Actually, it could have been murder.

What?

Oh, I'm sorry.

It's just my mystery writer's mind at work.

You see, it is possible to induce a brain hemorrhage

using a combination of alcohol and certain drugs.

Well, that lets out all of us.

We're not that smart,

or else we wouldn't have been working for him

in the first place, huh?

Shut up, Mr. Lassiter.

The man is dead. Just keep quiet about him.

Okay, okay. No offense, Clyde.

You always went around saying bad things about him.

You, too, Miss Garrett.

You just couldn't let yourself see the good side.

Well, maybe she just misplaced her magnifying glass.

Clyde, leave him alone. Stop it.

Yes, this is Mrs. Fletcher in 315.

Would you make up my bill, please?

Yes, I'll be leaving in a few minutes.

Thank you.

Lieutenant Caruso, Boston PD.

That's Sergeant Tierney. May we come in?

Oh, yes. Yes, of course.

Mrs. Fletcher, I'll get right to the point.

The medical examiner thinks

Lamar Bennett may have been murdered.

Really? The newspaper says nothing--

- That makes two of you. - What?

Last night you raised the possibility of murder

while talking to a--

Oh, yes, to Kay Garrett and Stan Lassiter.

That was just conjecture, lieutenant.

You conject accurately.

The autopsy showed methylthionate in his system.

Oh, dear.

And that mixed with alcohol, it--

It caused a massive cerebral hemorrhage.

The coroner picked it up from a blood test.

You work from a crystal ball, Mrs. Fletcher?

Well, with all the research that I do for my books,

my head has become something of a storehouse

for extraneous information.

But, of course, that's nothing like the kind of knowledge

that you need in your job, lieutenant.

I don't like being shined on, Mrs. Fletcher.

I read that article The Sentinel

printed about you.

Not real flattering.

Well, surely you don't think that that silly story

is sufficient motive for murder?

I deal in evidence, ma'am, facts.

And the chief fact I have uncovered about you

is you seem to know more about this man's death

than you should.

Facts?

All right, all right. Let's talk about facts.

The glass that Mr. Bennett drank out of.

Surely that must've yielded something useful,

like a fingerprint.

The glasses were washed before anyone thought

it could be murder.

Anyone but you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Another fact I seem to remember

methylthionate and alcohol needn't be administered

at the same moment.

Funny... that's the same thing the medical examiner told me.

Bennett could've either have the alcohol first

or the other way around.

Mrs. Fletcher, I suggest you remain in Boston.

We may need you for further questioning.

I'm sorry, lieutenant,

but I know nothing about that man's death.

And after I have visited a dear friend in the hospital,

I am returning to Cabot Cove.

Unless, of course, you feel compelled

to press charges against me right now.

Tierney, get her home phone number.

Do you believe it?

The police were on my doorstep at 8:00 a.m.

Oh, don't worry, sis. They didn't single you out.

They came by for a statement from me and from dad.

It's totally humiliating.

How can they possibly think

that I would have had anything to do with his death?

Oh, come on, Eleanor. We were there.

We detested him.

Speak for yourself, brother dear.

All right, that's enough.

Both of you. Listen to me.

I've decided to speak with Bennett's executor

about buying back at least

enough of The Sentinel stock to regain control.

Eleanor, I need your promise you won't sell your shares.

Sell?

Daddy, what do you think I've been living on?

Lamar Bennett dead.

Well, it figures.

Excuse me, but I mean a man with his rotten disposition,

God would get him.

Well, God may have gotten a little help.

- Murder? - The police seem to think so.

Lamar Bennett murdered. Now there's a story.

Uh, uh, uh, Haskell, calm down, your heart.

Oh, now, what are you talkin' about?

My heart feels great.

Now wait a minute. Look at this obit.

"Rags-to-riches, self-taught, one-time salesman."

That's all surface.

I mean, who knew him better than Billy Simms?

But that's Billy, loyal as hell.

Now, what he doesn't say here,

that's the real house number on Lamar Bennett.

Like, uh, who he stepped on to get where he got,

you know, stuff like that.

Jess, I'm telling you. This is a story--

For goodness sakes, Haskell, stay still.

Well, can't you see it? This is a great story.

The big one. I can feel it.

Jess, do me a favor.

Can't you stay a few days, do some legwork for me?

Legwork? Oh, don't be ridiculous.

Oh, come on, Jess, please?

I mean, this story can put me back in business.

The search for the real Lamar Bennett,

and who killed him.

- That's our hook. - Our hook?

You remember that summer you worked for the wire service,

and you did some research for me?

That empty oil tank storage swindle?

You had me running all over New England.

Yeah.

And your head was all cluttered with hearts and flowers

and Frank Fletcher, huh?

You wanted to be a teacher?

Ah, what the hell. Forget it, forget it.

You weren't much help then, anyway.

Are you kidding? I was terrific.

You said so yourself.

I would've made a first-rate reporter.

- Yeah, well, maybe. - Maybe?

On my worst day,

I was the best leg man you ever had.

Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh. That's the way you remember it.

Haskell Drake, you are impossible.

You're ornery and deceitful... And devious.

Not to mention manipulative.

Okay, come on. Here's your first assignment.

I don't believe this.

All right, I want a typewriter and lots of paper,

and, uh, a couple phones.

Oh, yeah, and bring me a box of cigars.

Who were you with just after he was murdered,

and what was their reaction?

Well, come on, girl. Start takin' notes!

Come on, Karen. Come on, Vernon.

Let's go. Let's get on the bus.

All right, Kay.

Now, maybe I could've been stronger with Bennett,

- but damn it-- - I'm sorry, Perry.

I don't mean to take it out on you.

Look, things are going to be different now.

My dad's going to be back running the paper soon.

Mrs. Fletcher. Hi, how's Mr. Drake?

Oh, he's improving. Miraculously, in fact.

Oh, that's great.

Actually, he's starting a story,

and I'm--well, I'm sort of helping with the research.

Ah, no kidding. What's it about?

Lamar Bennett.

I'll catch you later, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, I was hoping that you could give me a few minutes.

Sorry, I've got to pick up my laundry.

Later, honey.

He's not always that rude. I guess you just hit a nerve.

Yes. Kay--

Maybe Perry's right for once.

The less said about Lamar Bennett, the better.

Kay, a very dear friend of mine is in hospital.

He was ready to give up and die two days ago.

Now he has a reason to live-- this story.

Sure. How can I help you?

Well, for starters,

how would you rate Lamar Bennett as a newspaperman?

A very narrow sense of story.

A flair for the dramatic,

but no real feel for human interest.

Well, give me a for-instance.

I was working on this piece about unwanted kids,

about the state's tendency to leave them with parents

who abuse and neglect them.

Come on. Let's get on the bus.

Anyway, Bennett said the story wasn't sensational enough.

As I recall, you've written several stories

about unwanted children, orphanages,

foster homes, and so on.

You've done your homework.

It's hard to change the system.

I guess I was luckier than most.

You see, I was adopted after only four years.

Hi, Julie.

I suppose I haven't been much help, Mrs. Fletcher.

I guess I'm just too close to it.

- I've got to go. - Oh, I understand. Bye.

Mr. Drake, you have got to take your medication.

You are already two hours overdue.

And you can't smoke that cigar.

Listen, Phillips, I'm on long distance.

Do you mind?

Uh, yes, Sackett I think her name was.

Uh, right, right. Okay, bye.

Look, miss, try me in a month, why don't ya?

Better still make it two. Hello, you still there?

Yeah, I'm still here.

That's right. A little bit of a thing.

Bee-stung lips.

- He's all yours. - Sioux Falls? Oh, good.

Wait a minute. Hold it. Good, good.

- Mr. Drake. - Uh, excuse me, Doc. Thanks.

Yeah, what is it? Oh, Jess, what've you got?

I've got everything that the Boston public library

has on Bennett, plus.

Oh, great.

I'm tracking down a lady

who worked as a society editor in Tulsa back in the dark ages.

Mr. Drake, you are a very sick man.

You can't be abusing--

Doc, here, take my pulse if it'll make you feel better.

Anyway, Jess, if we find her,

we're gonna uncover a lot of bodies.

Now, listen to this.

The way I figure, Bennett's last will and testament

might just give us the answer.

You know, find out who feels they didn't get their due,

and you've got your killer.

Well, it may not be as simple as that.

I mean, Bennett's finances were very shaky,

and he owed a lot of people.

Jessica, Jessica,

that's what I got from The Wall Street Journal.

I don't want dollars and cents. I want a personal point of view.

Oh, jeez.

Oh, Doc, please, please.

And so what'd you learn about Kay Garrett?

Well, apparently she and Perry Revere--

Well, they're an item.

Only he seems more committed than she is.

Yeah?

How much of an item and for how long?

We need details, Jessica. Facts.

Did Perry ever catch Bennett making a pass at her?

Was she insulted he didn't make a pass?

Is Perry the jealous type?

- Well, I suppose I-- - Wait, wait, wait.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

We do not suppose anything here, Jessica.

We are not writing a novel here, Jessica.

Who, what, why, when, where?

I'll make a reporter out of you yet.

Where was I? Where--where was I?

Where?

Wait a minute.

You are asking me to quit?

For the good of the paper, Billy.

I mean, if my dad takes over again,

like it or not, around here,

you'll always be Bennett's hired gun.

Perry, I'm gonna do you a favor.

I'm not gonna take anything you said personally.

But your dad has got about as much chance

of gettin' back on top

as the Braves do of comin' back to Boston.

Now, how about getting back to work?

Mrs. Fletcher.

Mr. Revere, I know you're very busy,

but if you have a few moments--

Not now.

Guy's a nice enough fella,

but he'll never make a newspaperman.

You know, he doesn't have that edge,

that nose to really dig into a story.

- Really. - I'm Billy Simms.

And Lamar Bennett, did he have the nose?

I hear you're giving Haskell a hand.

But don't expect me to help you do an axe job

on a man that was pretty good to me most of my life.

Oh, now, that is unfair. Now, you know Haskell's work.

Now, he'll be a lot more impartial

than Mr. Bennett ever was.

Use the close-up, Sam, and lose the background.

When I started with LB 25 years ago,

all I knew was writing ads.

He wasn't perfect, but he taught me everything I know.

But as you said, he was not perfect.

Hey, I didn't say I agreed with all his decisions,

or the way he treated people.

Mr. Simms, do you think he was murdered?

I'm sure there are a lot of people

who've had the urge at one time or another.

If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher,

our editorial conference is now.

- Just one other thing. - One, Mrs. Fletcher.

You reported in the late edition

that most of his estate had been left

to the Lamar Bennett foundation.

Do you know of any personal bequests

that he might have made?

Yes, he left me a few bucks.

But as far as I know,

the only other heir was Clyde Thorson.

Good-bye.

Well, hi, Mrs. Fletcher.

I understand you've become Haskell Drake's shoe Leather.

Well, we're sort of working together.

Hey, don't expect any credit.

Drake wouldn't share a byline with his mother.

When you have a chance,

I'd love to hear your thoughts about Lamar Bennett.

I never speak ill of the dead.

Only running backs with bad knees.

Well, the Bennett stock is not for sale, not at any price.

Circulation's up, so Billy Simms gets the job.

I can't believe it.

Believe it, Daddy.

You're really pleased at this, aren't you?

-Now, Daddy -Just marvelous, Eleanor.

I guess I haven't been terribly realistic,

thinking I could count on you for support.

Daddy, realistic is the fact

that The Sentinel is now making a fat profit.

And if I take it over, it won't.

Well, I'm sorry, Daddy,

but I have a whole new lifestyle

that is riding on the price of The Sentinel's stock.

- Oh, Mr. Thorson. - Mrs. Fletcher.

I don't want talk to you

because I heard what you and Mr. Drake are trying to do

to Mr. Bennett, making him a bad person.

Mr. Thorson, if that were true,

I'd only question people who disliked him.

Whew.

I know if that someone left me $25,000,

I'd feel just terrible,

people saying negative about them.

Yes, ma'am.

So I don't suppose that anything could pay for--

How long was it? Sixteen years of total loyalty?

My goodness.

Out of all the millions that he owned,

that doesn't seem like so very much.

Mr. Bennett must have had his reasons.

You know, some people are saying

that his death could have been suicide.

No way, ma'am. Not for Mr. Bennett.

And I want to tell you something else.

If it was murder, the cops better get a hold

of this guy before I get my hands on him.

You see, Mr. Bennett was like a father to me

if I'd ever had one.

I understand that you were raised by an aunt

on an Oklahoma farm.

- Is that true? - Yes, ma'am.

I was down in the Oklahoma oil fields

when Mr. Bennett found me.

I was a washed-up football player

just looking for work.

Excuse me, ma'am.

I just don't want to let the ticker slow down too much.

Oh, no, no, no. Of course not.

Just one last thing.

You seemed to be in charge of his sinus medication.

You don't suppose that someone could've tampered

with those pills?

No way, ma'am.

The cops asked me the same thing,

and they took what was left.

Good day, ma'am.

So in spite of the increase in circulation and advertising,

the costs went up too,

which in a way explains Bennett's financial problems.

Whoa, whoa, hold it, hold it.

- Where's your lead paragraph? - Well, I'm coming to that.

Well, before you do,

they'll be reading the vitamin content

off their cereal boxes.

Haskell, will you stop treating me like a two-year-old?

You know, it's all beginning to come back to me now.

Why I chose to marry Frank

instead of pursuing a newspaper career with you.

Uh, shh-shh.

Yeah, hello, Mrs. Marcus. Yeah, that's right.

The society editor from Tulsa. Finally tracked her down.

Guess where? Minneapolis, for God's sake.

Yeah, yes, hello. Well, say that again?

Uh, when was that?

Uh-huh. Mm-hmm.

Are you sure?

You're not sure. She's not sure.

Uh, well, thank you, Mrs. Marcus.

There's more? Hmm.

Well, thank you, Mrs.--

No, I am interested, but not just now.

Uh, bye, Mrs. Marcus.

Well.

A couple of more minutes,

and I'd have enough to blackmail half the people in Tulsa.

Okay, now.

You ready? Here's the skinny.

About 23, 24 years ago,

Bennett has an affair with a local lady,

an Olivia Kimmell.

Rumor has it that the lady got with child.

Maybe yes, maybe no.

Either way, a short time later, Miss Kimmell ups and dies.

Which means that if there was a child...

Bennett sure wasn't accepting responsibility,

even if he knew about it, which maybe he didn't.

Haskell, there are an awful lot of maybes in your scenario.

Yeah, but, Jessica, I can smell it.

We've got something here.

All right. Try this on for size.

The kid gets adopted, grows up,

discovers that Bennett is his father, his real father.

Bennett refuses to acknowledge him.

The kid kills him.

Yeah, I know maybe it sounds crazy, but--

Maybe not as crazy as you think.

Jessica, what is it?

Haskell, I really don't want to think what I'm thinking,

but Kay Garrett spent the first four years of her life

in an orphanage on the outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Mrs. Fletcher, forget it. You're wrong.

The lab workup indicates that Bennett's sinus medicine

was just that, sinus medicine.

Now if you will excuse me.

If I could just have a look at the coroner's report.

What for?

Mrs. Fletcher, why don't you just go back to Cabot Falls

- and leave this-- - Cabot Cove.

And look, whether you believe me or not,

I am not trying to step on your toes.

No? Everybody else is.

You like these?

Some ex-jock can hang a dead fish on the wall

or maybe what's left of a moose who didn't move fast enough.

That's okay.

But when I bring in a few geraniums,

you can hear the snickers all the way to Brockton.

I know the feeling.

Which is why I, especially, have to toe the line

when it comes to the regs-- regulations.

- We've got it, lieutenant. - Oh, hello, Mrs. Fletcher.

It was murder, all right.

Forensics found traces of the drug and the alcohol,

along with Bennett's blood, on her handkerchief.

- Whose handkerchief? - Eleanor Revere's.

The one she used to dab the cut on Bennett's cheek.

We found it in her laundry basket.

Are you saying that Eleanor Revere

murdered Lamar Bennett?

In cahoots with her father.

Walter Revere strikes the victim, draws blood,

and then Eleanor dips her hanky into a glass

containing the methylthionate alcohol solution,

dabs it on the open wound...

It mixes with the alcohol already in his system,

and ten seconds later, it's all over.

You know, it is possible that the methylthionate

was already in his bloodstream.

But not terribly likely

when you consider the Revere family motives.

Nicely choreographed right out in the open.

Who'd have thought?

Come on, sergeant. Let's bring 'em in.

Ooh, glad I caught you, lieutenant.

Got to get your autograph on these little beauties.

- Mm-hmm. - Bottom of the blue one there.

- Uh, yellow one there. - Mm-hmm.

And initials there.

You type a nice report, officer.

- Anybody ever read this stuff? - Not that I know of, ma'am.

I think it goes straight to the files.

Well, I'm heading over to the Revere place.

Mrs. Fletcher, if you come up with any reason you think

I'm trudging down the wrong road,

I'd like to hear about it.

But don't send me smoke rings, okay?

I want evidence. Hard evidence.

Otherwise, you're just wasting my time.

Thank you, Mrs. Falucci.

Al, that's it for today, dear.

- Thank you. - Okay.

You know, I've got no business doing this, Mrs. Fletcher.

But here you are. The donors from The Sentinel.

AB Negative being as rare as it is,

we're so delighted to get some

even if it was just the pint we got from Miss Garrett.

Thanks very much.

It fits.

Kay Garrett's got to be Lamar Bennett's daughter.

But I don't believe that she would have killed him.

Oh, come on, Jessica.

It's the classic Greek tragedy, kid.

I mean, she confronts him and says, "Hi, Daddy, it's me."

He says, "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

You know, people tend to take

that sort of rejection kind of hard.

Yes, but I was with her from the moment

that editorial meeting broke up until the moment that he died.

Mr. Drake, French fries are not a part of your diet.

Don't you dare.

No, but you'd rather poison me

with chipped beef and tapioca pudding, right?

At least take your medication.

Okay.

You know, Jessica, you yourself told me

that alcohol and methyl-whaddyacall-it

doesn't have to be taken at the same time.

Oh, it's terrible.

Just so long as they mix in the bloodstream

and trigger off the brain hemorrhage.

Now, I mean, Kay could've slipped it to him

before you got to The Sentinel.

Besides, she had a hell of a better motive

than Walter and Eleanor.

Wh-what're you after?

This: the Bulldog edition.

Haskell, what time does this go to press?

Well, it depends.

Uh, if you want it on the street by 10:15,

you got to put the paper to bed by 8:30, 8:45 the latest.

Now, you know, there was a time I saved the day, of course--

Jessica!

Thank you.

It's a clipboard about, uh, about so big.

It contains all of our donor information.

I mean, everything for the past two months.

Dr. Rashnishi is going to have a fit if he finds out.

Well, it could mean my job.

Oh, incidentally, I don't recall you giving blood.

Well, I would've,

but I got this thing about needles.

Ah, thank you.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh. Mr. Simms.

I thought you'd finished up the early edition and gone home.

What're you doing here?

I--I was just looking for a little background

on Mr. Bennett.

What's this about?

- I told you. - I know what you told me.

Don't try to con a newshound, Mrs. Fletcher,

especially one with a lot of miles on him.

Kay Garrett.

You've known her for a long time, haven't you?

No, I met her two years ago when I hired her.

I don't think so, Mr. Simms.

I think you've known Kay since the day that she was born.

I think you also know Lamar Bennett was her father.

Who told you that?

You brought Kay on to The Sentinel

in the hopes of bringing them together,

somehow making an honest man of Bennett.

You make a pretty good reporter, you know.

Yeah, I knew it.

I was disappointed the way that he brushed her off.

I think you were more than disappointed.

I think you were angry.

For 25 years, you've been angry

until finally you couldn't handle it anymore,

and you had to kill him.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, that is just plain horse manure.

I mean, he died at the banquet. I was where, here?

Fourteen blocks away, getting out the Bulldog edition.

Yes, but Mr. Bennett was actually murdered

in two different places.

The most lethal half of the dose was administered right here,

during the editorial meeting.

That's when you gave him the pill containing

the methylthionate.

Now you're really blowing smoke.

The only pill that Bennett took

was from Clyde's bottle of sinus medicine.

Yes, that's what I'd assumed, Billy, until a short time ago

when I saw how easily Haskell Drake fooled his nurse

into believing he'd taken his pills

by simply palming them.

Oh, man.

In the editorial conference,

you knew it was nearly time for Mr. Bennett's medication,

so you sent Clyde Thorson out of the room on an errand.

Naturally, Clyde left the pill bottle.

And when Mr. Bennett requested his medication,

you obliged by appearing to dump the tablet into his hand.

But instead, you slipped him

the methylthionate pill you had already palmed.

Then, it was simply a matter

of Mr. Bennett going out to the banquet,

and when he consumed something alcoholic,

the poisonous solution was formed inside his body.

Well, there's no evidence of that.

Oh, but there is.

If you'd actually been giving him a sinus pill,

that medication would've shown up in his bloodstream.

It didn't.

- You can't prove anything. - There's more, I'm afraid.

In your story about Mr. Bennett's sudden death,

you stated the cause of death was a cerebral hemorrhage.

That's what it was.

Yes, but that fact wasn't known

till the autopsy was completed...

About an hour after the Bulldog edition

was on the street,

unless you knew in advance the effects

of the methylthionate and alcohol together.

Kay told me how he died

when she phoned in the story just before we went to press.

That's not true. I was there.

He just suddenly turned red,

then he seemed to have trouble breathing,

then he keeled over.

There'll be an autopsy.

Okay, okay, okay.

Oh, God. I did it.

About--about three weeks ago,

I tried to work up the courage to tell him who Kay really was.

I kept putting it off because I was afraid.

When I finally screwed up my guts to tell him,

and he told me--warned me never, ever to mention it again

to anyone.

I watched her grow up, Mrs. Fletcher.

I saw her turn into a fine young woman.

She's bright and talented and independent.

I figured she deserved his recognition.

Then Kay doesn't know?

Her mother, Olivia, she was the only one

who could ever stand up to Bennett.

He offered to marry her. She turned him down.

Must have transferred his hatred for her on to Kay.

He told me to fire her, discredit her.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

I--I sold out my whole life to that man.

But, well, you--you get to a point

where you just can't take that final step.

I knew if I stuck with you long enough,

you'd show me who did it, Mrs. Fletcher.

No, Clyde. Don't.

I don't want to hurt you. You just stay out of this.

Killing Mr. Simms won't make you feel better.

Billy.

Billy, he treated you good, treated me good.

Did he really, Clyde?

If you heard Billy confess to the murder,

you also heard why.

You know how many people he's hurt--

Not just the victims of his stories,

but the people who were close to him.

Like Kay and Billy.

He never hurt me.

Please, believe me.

I understand how you feel,

how much you loved the good things about him,

but admitting the truth doesn't mean

you can't keep those memories.

Mr. Bennett's gone, Clyde.

It's time to get on with your life.

Let the courts punish Mr. Simms.

Perry and his father are back in command at The Sentinel.

Walter has promised to stay out of Perry's editorial domain

and do what he does best, which is reporting.

Oh, and Eleanor is coming onboard to learn the business.

Wonderful. Are you finished?

No.

Kay has finally come to terms with the fact

that Lamar Bennett was her father.

I think she and Perry are going to be married.

You know, one of these days I have the feeling

she's going to run for office.

All right, now I'm finished.

Now, hold on to your hairdo.

Our story on Lamar Bennett has been picked up by worldwide.

That's fantastic.

Quiet. I'm not finished yet.

I have been offered a big overseas assignment

in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Bangkok--

- Oh. - By News Month, no less.

Haskell, that's marvelous. When?

Oh, well, um, as soon as you hand me my trousers.

And, by the way, you can tag along if you want to.

I figure that a couple of years of hard work, who knows?

You may turn into a half-decent newspaperman.